Cloner4000: The Lieutenant is strictly forbidden from using heavy weapons due to the warp in the time-space-awesome continuum it would create. Also, because then the war would be over, and I wouldn't have a story.

Although on a more serious note, the "munchkin" stature of the Lieutenant will be downplayed soon. He'll still be awesome, but things are going to come up that make his military prowess a bit less relevant…

Side note: why is it that every time I edit a document by a few words, the word count jumps by several hundred? Chapter 7 had a typo (same =/= shame) that when corrected added 400 words. Wtf?

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Cold with hatred, Celes started running down the gravel road to the hamlet at a breakneck speed, right before Lieutenant Karst caught him by the shoulder as he jogged at a much more conservative, but still fast rate. He pointed at the still-tiny houses in the distance. "If we dash there, we won't have any energy left to fight." Only having just started moving, neither was winded yet, but circumstances promised to soon change that. "Either we save some of them, or we save none of them, is that clear?"

The subordinate growled, but acquiesced by instantly dropping his pace down to match his superior's own. Solid leather boots, the one part of their uniform that made the transition from soldier to civilian disguise, skipped lightly across the gravel road; without heavy armor or extra wargear, only Celes's comparatively modest medical duffel – slung across his back – to slow them, they advanced much faster than even the fittest Imperial unit could dashing all out.

A quarter of the way there. They started hearing the ZM MP shots, the light rifle ammunition chattering in a sinister fashion. The first houses were still miniscule, far away.

A half of the way there. Screams began to cross the distance, cries of anger, rage, pain, fear, grief. Celes blinked back tears, knowing that there was still nothing he could do. Their progress along the gently curved road showed them more of the hamlet: a few more cottages, a fountain in the middle of the road. There was a small wooden fence with a gate at waist height right before the first house.

Three fourths of the way there. More subtle sounds filled the air now. Loud commands of the Gallian murderers – don't let them get away, two more here – could be heard. Celes had stopped crying. It interfered with his breathing, and that was the most important factor in his most important goal right now. He had sped up, Lieutenant Karst had followed, and both of them had no extra air to spend on emotions. There was only the thought of the incoming enemy, legs pumping furiously, months of conditioning and operations against the Federation in the south showing their true worth.

One hundred meters until the fence. They could see the fountain, and the streets and alleys that surrounded it on both sides, house fronts classically decorated with picket fences and vegetable gardens. It was an idyllic scene, until one realized that the fountain was chipped with bullets, a villager's body resting at piece bent over the side. The water spewed clear – it pooled red.

Unspoken, Celes and Lieutenant Karst split into two in a classic Imperial wide formation, going left and right. Celes listed on his original straight course along the road, soon running into tall grass and through wildflowers that smiled cheerily in the sun, unaware of the atrocities going on a rifle shot away, while the Lieutenant went over a gentle knoll, decorated with a few sparse saplings. The sky was blue, the sun beautiful, and the clouds white and peaceful… setting the stage for an impossible combat.

Seconds later, both of them crashed into position behind the fence, mostly hidden by the vegetation, panting with exertion. They had full view of the hamlet entrance now, as the grass began to be tamed by human hand immediately after the barrier. The settlement was a one street affair, side alleys little more than paths to the back doors of the homes that were the majority of the buildings. The main road followed no logical path, winding left and right to follow the contours of the small dips and rises in the ground without human interference. Overall, it was a beautiful scene, something that would have made Celes's heart grip with homesickness – if it hadn't been for the ruined fountain in the center, a gruesome example of the horrors of war. They could hear the enemy now, but couldn't see them – even so much as loud speech commenting on how they had to wipe everyone out could be heard.

Suddenly, a small Darcsen child flew into view from right behind the nearest house, dragged by the hand by her mother, of the same heritage. The mother wore an expression of dread fear; the daughter, shock and incomprehension. A small ragdoll was clutched in her hand, string hair flailing wildly in air with their flight.

A burst rang out, loud and close, less than twenty meters away – the Imperials-come-civilians raised their weapons in unison, looking for a target. But all they saw was the mother buck in her stride, lifting off the ground; one foot slipping on the ground, then the other; red spray in the air; and then she was down, a ruined mess of flesh and bone. Heartwrenchingly, her daughter still clasped at her hand, staring blankly at her once-alive mother, doll limply dragging along the street cobbles, staining it with the blood that ran in the streets.

Celes and Lieutenant Karst saw the first of their Gallian foes with their bare eyes walk out from behind the same building, calmly strolling as if in a park. As if in a dream, each watched carefully, meticulously, judging who they were up against. Surprisingly, it was a woman – her blonde hair up in a tight, severe bun for combat, squad insignia ripped off her blue uniform – untraceable. Slowly, she approached the Darcsens, commandeered Imperial rifle across her body towards the mother and child. A grim smile was on her face, ugly with hatred, as she dropped the magazine from the weapon and replaced it with one from an also-stolen bandolier across her chest. Merely ten meters away from each shocked Imperial, she stopped and slowly raised the weapon one-handed to the child's frozen head, savoring each moment that the adolescent stared back in absolute fear. "Scream for me!" the Gallian hissed with pleasure.

A second chatter of rounds rang out. A head exploded.

Not the child's.

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I just realized that "scream for me" is one of Jane's lines, a pretty famous one. Oops. This is NOT Jane (That'd be horrible! She's not a Darcsen hater!... is she?) but the quote – and method of speech – is the same.

I realize that it might seem unrealistic for the Imperials to wait so long at the fence before advancing, turning into a forced scene of drama, but remember – this is urban combat in an unfamiliar zone. With only two men, the last thing you do is hare off into the unknown alone and unaided!

As for taking so long to shoot the Gallian… they were too busy watching just how much hatred she was holding, and also she wasn't immediately ready to fight, making them question themselves until that last dramatic moment. Although I must say the dramatic moment was more important to me.

I'm sorry to say that the combat ends here for today… but perhaps we're in order to head back to Squad 7, despite the break in chronological order. What sayeth thou? Post a review with your opinion by tomorrow, and perhaps you'll see an update then!